Ash Wednesday has turned into one of my favorites as an adult. I didn’t grow up in a traditional environment that highlighted it but I always knew it existed. The idea of remembering our mortality can be daunting and beautiful.

Tonight I went to an art class for Stations of the Cross. I scribbled a scene, badly, that faintly resembled the first station of the cross and I had a thought. In the garden, on that dark night there was creation. Creation that Jesus played a part in creating. I’m not an expert on what kind of animals are native to Jerusalem at that time. As He is praying that God would take this cup from him-were there squirrels listening in, birds flying overhead, frogs croaking in the distance? As I’m writing this I’m learning what animals are actually native to Jerusalem so it was probably more like chickens, goats, and pigeons.

But did they know? Was creation comforting to Him at this awful moment? Did He stop to take in that He did create them? Did He look on them with compassion like He did the disciples many times? After all, they may be animals, but they are still his own creation! Maybe they sensed his sadness and were sad for him. When I picture a garden, there are buzzing sounds and chirping and many wonderful things, yet Jesus was at the beginning of the darkest journey anyone on earth would ever embark.

It also occurred to me in this class that it started in a garden and ended in a garden. Similar to the story of creation as a whole. In the midst of Jesus knowing His death was coming, He was surrounded by life. Again, life that He himself created. A garden, lush with green that He created from nothing. The same place He dwelt in perfect peace with his new creation. The place He once walked looking for Adam and Eve after they sinned. Now to be in a garden praying that God would let this cup of death pass. What a dimly wonderful thought that God chose a garden for these dark moments to then be turned around into beauty.

The curse of one returning to dust the way he came from dust doesn’t feel like a curse at all. It feels more like a wonderful promise of hope that one will see a new creation. Praise God for that promise. He flipped the curse and made it new.

May I return to dust and be made a new creation.